


Long Live the Empress

by leonanette



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: The Golden Cat, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 19:16:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonanette/pseuds/leonanette
Summary: Emily wants nothing more than to leave the Golden Cat. One day, a strange lady came along and offered to take her away. All she wants in return is for Emily to sit for a portrait...





	

Tears stung Emily’s eyes long after the sting of the caning had faded but she would not let them fall this time. The knees of her stockings were turning grey from the number of tears fallen on them and Mother hated it when she ruined her nice clothes.

Mother had never let her wear the same clothes twice a day, let alone for two whole months – she pushed down that thought as hard as she could but her tears were too quick. She pressed her hands to her eyes. She didn’t want to get her clothes dirtier than they were. Mother wouldn’t want that. Mother wouldn’t –

_Tap, tap._

Emily started and quickly wiped her eyes. Showing her tears wasn’t a good idea. If it was one of the fancy-dressed ladies, they would give her pitying looks and say nothing. If it was Prudence, she would tell her to stop crying or she would give her something to really cry about. If it was one of the Pendleton twins (and that was mercifully rare), they would sneer and tell her just how much of a pathetic little brat she was.

And how unworthy she was of being Empress.

The door opened. It was a fancy-dressed lady but not one Emily knew and, like no one Emily had ever met. Her black hair was short and smoothed back to the nape of her neck like a man’s and her skin was so pale that it seemed to glow in the candlelight. The most striking thing about her was her tattoos. The other fancy-dressed ladies had tattoos but only on their shoulders or hands. She had tattoos all over her body, tracing branches, bunches of leaves and little roses all the way down her arms, legs and below her dress.

She’s not a fancy-dressed lady. Her clothes are clean and new. None of the fancy-dressed ladies walk so tall. Not like…not like Mother used to walk.

“Hello, sweet young girl.” Her voice was deep like Mother’s too but had none of her warmth, “We finally meet. I’ve heard so much about you from the other girls and, now I’ve seen you, I know I was right.”

“Right about what?” Emily stood up. She didn’t like people towering over her. It made her feel helpless. Even standing up, she didn’t reach the lady’s elbow.

“How pretty you are.”

Even if the lady was an imposter, Emily couldn’t resist a compliment and she felt a warm rush inside her.

“Pretty girls should be painted.” The lady went on, “Prettiness doesn’t last forever, you know. In a few short years, even the prettiest of girls become as ugly as Madam Prudence.”

“Urgh!” Emily pressed her hands to her mouth. The horrifying image of her face becoming wrinkled and ugly flashed before her.

“It’s true.” The fancy-dressed lady nodded, “That’s why people like Anton Sokolov are so admired. In a painting, the way you are now can be preserved for centuries, never ageing or becoming ugly.”

“Like Mother.” The words were out before she could stop them. She wasn’t supposed to say who or her mother was in front of the fancy-dressed ladies. The Pendleton twins had told her she would be thrown out to be ripped apart by weepers and never become Empress if she did.

The fancy-dressed lady gave Emily a small smile, “Your mother must have been a beauty. It’s so rare that a woman catches Sokolov’s eye long enough to paint her. Unless, she pays him handsomely.”

“Mother didn’t have to pay him.” It was okay to talk like this. Just so long as the fancy-dressed lady didn’t find out who her mother was, she could tell her the truth, “He came and asked her.”

“It’s very fortunate that he did.” The fancy-dressed lady said, fixing Emily with a look like she wanted to see right into her, “If he hadn’t, no one would be able to see how beautiful she was, would they?”

Emily pressed her mouth shut. She shouldn’t have said anything. The fancy-dressed lady had worked it out. She was clever. Even with the black mask covering half of it, Emily could see it was a clever face.

“Don’t worry.” Emily wondered if the fancy-dressed lady really could read minds, “I won’t tell Madam Prudence or any of the other girls. Not if you don’t tell them some of my little secrets.”

Emily relaxed, “What secrets?”

“Well,” The fancy-dressed lady looked over her shoulder for a moment before turning back, leaning forward and whispering in Emily’s ear, “I don’t really work here. This is just a disguise to help me get to you.”

Emily’s heart gave a leap. Now she’d been proved right, other wonderful possibilities came to her. She could be a spy, an agent from a secret organisation working to rescue her and kick Burrows and all his friends out of power.

The spy smiled, “I’m afraid I can’t give my name. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that someone might overhear us and then we would both be in very big trouble. The name I’m using while I’m here is Rosey.”

“Isn’t that a bit of a bad name for a spy?”

Rather than looking offended, Rosey quirked up a lip in an amused smile, “What makes you say that?”

“Well, you’re tattooed with roses so Rosey is kind of obvious.”

Rosey gave a laugh. It was a deep, dignified laugh. Almost like Mother’s, “Well, that’s not noticed here. All of the girls take new names when they start work. Sometimes, it’s related to their appearance or what they do so Rosey is the perfect name while I’m working here.”

“Oh, okay.” Emily nodded. It was good to finally talk to someone like a friend, , “Like…actresses?”

“Exactly like actresses.” Rosey nodded, “The Golden Cat is a theatre of sorts. The only difference is that the clients can play in the show with the actresses. So, who would notice another actress here?” She gave Emily a sly smile, “No one, of course, so I can come and go undetected.”

“And, what are you going to do?” Emily asked, unable to keep the rising excitement out of her voice, “Are you going to help me escape? Or do something nasty to Prudence and the Pendletons?”

“Both, if you like.” Rosey’s smile widened, stretching her black lips almost to her ears, “No one likes Prudence here. The other girls won’t complain if something happens to her. As for the Pendletons, well,” The slyness in her face doubled, “they have their uses but that doesn’t mean they can be happy.”

“You’re really going to help me escape? Really?” Emily felt like jumping up and down with glee. It was almost like having Corvo back. Or Mother.

“Yes but not now. I need to make some preparations first. This won’t be an easy thing to manage so we’ll have to be very, very careful.”

“But,” Emily’s deflating happiness felt almost like physical pain, “what if they decide to take me away? Or, Burrows takes me to Dunwall Tower and makes me his ‘puppet empress’?” She didn’t quite understand the term but she didn’t like it at all, “You’ll never be able to get into Dunwall Tower.”

“You underestimate me, Emily.” Rosey’s smile didn’t falter and it was starting to become a little scary. It looked almost hungry, like she was considering how to cook and eat Emily. Then, Rosey dropped her smile and her face stopped being scary, “But, you’re half-right. It would be much more difficult to infiltrate the Tower than the Golden Cat. It would be best if you stayed here so that means no one can know that people like me can get in. So, as far as everyone here knows, I’m just another actress who’s not allowed to make friends with you, like the others. So, that means no telling tales about me to the other girls.”

“Okay. I can do that.” Emily nodded, trying her best to look serious. Then, because she couldn’t stand not knowing, she added, “How long is it going to take to get me out? I want to leave so much.”

“All in good time, Emily.” Rosey said in the gentle way that meant bad news was coming, “If you want me to help you out, you have to do something for me first.”

“What?” Emily asked, a little bit of doubt creeping into her. Rosey could be a spy for someone worse than Burrows, who wanted to make her his ‘puppet empress’. Her mother had warned her to only share what she had with those she truly trusted and she didn’t know whether to truly trust Rosey yet.

“Oh, it’s nothing much. I would just like you to sit for a painting.”

“A painting?”

“Yes. If you let me paint your portrait, then I’ll help you escape. That sounds like a fair deal to me. All you’ll have to do is keep still while I draw you. You won’t even have to leave this room.”

“And, you’ll definitely help me escape if I do?”

“Of course, I will.”

“Do you blood-promise?” There was no more solid vow in Emily’s mind so she had only made it twice before over the most serious of things.

“I will.” Rosey provided a sharp knife from somewhere in her skirts and delicately pulled off one of her white silk gloves. The tattoo vines met at a point in the middle of her palm, “Are you sure? Most girls would pinkie-promise.”

“I don’t. And, I’m not scared of blood or pain.” She took the knife from Rosey and put it to her palm. A twinge of fear made her hesitate but Rosey was watching her. Emily couldn’t show that she was scared. She pressed down hard against her palm, pressing her lips together to stifle the cry of pain as the skin broke and a tiny orb of blood swelled.

Rosey took the knife from her and, without hesitation, slit a long cut on her palm. She reached out, clasped Emily’s hand in a tight grip and spoke in a slow serious voice like an Overseer over a verse of Litany.

“I promise to set you free from your confinement. I promise with the blood from my veins and in the eyes of the cosmos. If I do break this promise, either by mischance or by treachery, let my blood turn to poison within my veins, my lying tongue be eaten by bloodflies and the Outsider capture my soul in an eternal snare of torment.”

These words had been uttered by Emily and her friends in her happier days when they hadn’t really thought of the implications of it. When Rosey spoke the blood promise, however, it sounded dark and creepy like an evil spell.

Was it Emily’s imagination or the flickering light from the candelabra or did the mingled blood trickles turn black and…shiver as if in a strong wind?

Then, it fell onto the floor and everything was normal again. Rosey wiped the blood off both their hands with a handkerchief and said, “The promise has been made. Now, it’s time we got started on some preliminary sketches.”

Rosey produced a sketchbook as big as a canvas painting, placed the candelabra closer to Emily and told her to pose sitting down and looking straight at Rosey. Emily tried to keep completely still at first, taking care not to even breathe too deeply, but, after a few minutes, her nose started itching. She tried to will it away but it just got worse and worse.

Her discomfort must have shown in her face for, a minute later, Rosey said, “It’s alright to move a bit. In fact, it’ll be better for the painting if you do. Paintings need to look alive, like there are real people in them that breathe, think and even move, and any artist worth their brushes knows the best way to do that is not to force their models to keep completely still in uncomfortable positions.”

“Do paintings move?” Emily asked, intrigued by this new idea.

“Some do, if they’re done by a very good artist.” Rosey smiled, “Of course, most people don’t notice even if they can move. They never look at paintings long enough.”

Emily made a mental note to herself: once she was back in Dunwall Tower, she would stare at the painting of Mother until she moved. Even if it took a whole day, she would not look away once.

She didn’t remember much of the time when Mother was having her portrait painting by Sokolov. She remembered only that no one was allowed in the room when Sokolov was working or to see the painting before it was finished. Corvo had said it would ‘increase the anticipation’ for the finished painting, which meant it would be like a surprise. There had been a grand ceremony when the portrait was finished. The painting had been veiled until all the guests had come in and there had been a lot of guests. Emily had counted them while sitting on Corvo’s shoulders but she couldn’t remember the exact number. A small bell had been rung to make everybody quiet and, when Sokolov had pulled away the veil, everyone had clapped. Burrows had been there. He had been Royal Spymaster then. High Overseer Campbell had been there too and the Pendletons.

As Rosey worked on her sketches, Emily imagined the unveiling ceremony for her painting. She definitely wouldn’t invite the Pendletons or Burrows or Campbell but it would still be as big and grand as Mother’s. Rosey would unveil it and Sokolov would be green with envy. Perhaps, she would make Rosey the Royal Artist. If that position didn’t exist, then she would make it exist. She was the Empress, after all. But, would Sokolov be offended that someone else had painted the Empress? Well, Sokolov wasn’t the one who sneaked into the Golden Cat to save her. If he was offended, she wouldn’t care.

“There we are.” Rosey set down her pencils, forcing Emily out of her imaginary ceremony, “Would you like to see it?”

Emily nodded and, when Rosey turned the sketchbook around, she was entranced by the work. It was like looking into a paper-and-pencil mirror, where Pencil-Emily looked back at her with a small smile on her face.

“It’s amazing!” Emily gushed, “Will you teach me how to draw like that, pleeease?”

“Once the painting is done.” Rosey smiled, almost in the same way Mother would when Emily asked for dessert before she’d eaten her greens, “Then, I’ll teach you until you’re as good as me.”

Emily posed for several more sketches over the course of the afternoon. Rosey said it was because she wanted to find the best angle before she committed to a painting and that it may take many more sketches to get exactly the right pose. Emily had thought before that the many months Sokolov took to paint Mother was much too long to paint a portrait but, now, she was wondering she would be taken away before it was finished.

“Don’t worry.” Rosey said, when Emily voiced her worries out loud, “Burrows still has got a long way to go before he has a steady grip on Dunwall and he won’t make a move until then. A very, very long way to go. I’m sure I’ll have the painting finished before then and, once it’s done, I’ll come and take you away.”

Rosey had to leave before dinnertime, though Emily had pleaded with her to stay, “I’ll come back soon. Have patience, Emily, and don’t let your spirits fail you. I won’t let you down.”

She stood up and walked to the door. Emily tried to be cheerful but Rosey felt like a friend to her now and, sometimes, friends left, never to come back…

“Oh, Emily?”

“Yes?”

Rosey smiled slyly at her from the doorway and whispered, “Long live the Empress.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, she isn't exactly lying...
> 
> I wrote this for the Dishonored tumblr community's 'The Month of Void 2015' event, during Delilah's week. I did to work out a little headcanon of mine of how Delilah did her painting. It's hard to imagine Delilah being able to creep around the Hound Pits Pub with a sketchpad to get a drawing of Emily and, even with Outsider-given magic powers, there's no way she could have done a painting that complex in less than a week. I think it's much more likely that she sneaked into the Golden Cat, befriended Emily and persuaded her to sit for a portrait.
> 
> What do you lot think? Don't be afraid to leave kudos and a comment.


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